Part II
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
~ Emily Bronte, English novelist and poet
Thenerveof some men.
No, Olivia corrected silently as she stuffed her foot into a dancing slipper and yanked the silk ribbon around her ankle, notsomemen.
Just one.
Hoyt Culpepper.
She didn’t recall her mother mentioning that an American would be in attendance at this year’s house party. To the best of her knowledge, her parents had no affiliations, personal or otherwise, with any Yankees.
Yet here he was.
Six feet of brawny muscle, black hair pushed back from an annoyingly striking face, and breathtaking swagger.
She’d judged him to be around her age, mayhap a few years older. The emerald green waistcoat that had hugged his broad shoulders and fell in a straight line away from his waist revealed that he had an excellent tailor, and thus likely had money. She may not have paid as much attention to fashion as her two sisters, but even she knew the difference between gold buttons and tin. The way he’d worn his pomposity like a well-fitted glove had also been revealing. Hoyt was obviously a man accustomed to women throwing themselves at him, and his flabbergasted expression when she’d done the exact opposite had almost - almost - made up for him ferreting out one of her best hiding spots.
Because of him, she’d have to find somewhere else to conceal herself after she made a brief appearance at Jane’s recital. Her mother had stationed a scullery maid at the entrance to the attic stairwell, so that was out unless she wanted to attempt to scale a four-story trellis. So was the garden shedandthe stables. The Duchess of Abercorn had eyes everywhere, and they’d all been told to immediately report any sightings of her wayward daughter. Leaving Olivia with a limited number of places to hide, especially given the sheer size of the manor and surrounding estate.
The labyrinth had been a stroke of sheer genius.
It was so obvious that her motherneverwould have looked for her in there.
But thenhe’dfollowed her.
Stalking her to ground as if he were a hound and she one of her beloved foxes.
The nerve!
Sitting up, Olivia cast her appearance a withering glance in the mirror propped against her dressing table before she sprang to her feet and hurried out of her room. After being late for the receiving line and skipping the tea party altogether,she knew she was already running the risk of straining her mother’s patience beyond its tolerable limits. The duchess was an understanding woman, but she wasn’t without her temper. After all, that was who Olivia had gotten hers from.
Scratching her scalp where her lady’s maid had jammed in a series of pins in a desperate attempt to tame her defiant curls into something vaguely resembling a coiffure, she fell into line with the rest of the guests making their way toward the music room, an elegant space in soft blues with matching armchairs lined up in neat, orderly rows facing a raised dais where Jane was already seated in preparation for her performance.
She made sure to catch her mother’s stare before melting into the second-to-last line of chairs, choosing the one closest to the doorway to expedite a silent retreat after the first musical number was over. At the same time, the majority of the crowd, including her family, flocked to the front seats.
With one notable exception.
“Pardon me, my lady,” a familiar male voice drawled and Olivia caught her breath on a hiss of incredulity as Hoyt Culpepper slid in front of her and then sat directly beside her, completely ignoring the empty row to his left.
Stretching his legs out in front of him and lacing his fingers together over the flat plane of his abdomen, he shuttered his gaze. “Let me know when I should applaud.”
“You’re not even going towatch?” she said, conveniently forgetting the fact that she’d had her exit planned since before she’d even entered the music room.
“It’s a recital,” he said without opening his eyes. “I believe you’re supposed to listen.”
“You’resupposedto pay attention,” she snapped.
The edge of his mouth curled in a smirk. “Oh really? Is that why you’re all the way back here?”
“Where I’m sitting is none of your concern.”
“It’s not? Because you seem awfully concerned about -you.” Finally, Hoyt cracked his eyes open and they momentarily went wide before narrowing to thin, suspicious slits of icy blue. “What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?”
“Like what?” she asked, ignoring a foreign twinge of self-consciousness as she grasped a handful of her skirts.
